


Lost and Found

by Springmagpies



Series: AU August 2020 [18]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Amnesia, F/M, Gen, Sort of Lost AU, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springmagpies/pseuds/Springmagpies
Summary: Phil Coulson awakes to find himself on a plane he never remembers getting on full of people he feels he knows but has never met. Even after he has disembarked from the flight and returned back to his normal life as a high school history teacher, he can't help but keep running into these people. And what are these visions he keeps seeing of a life he doesn't remember living?
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson & Agents of SHIELD Team, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: AU August 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862158
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19
Collections: AOS AU August 2020





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Another multi-chapter started during AU August! This will be the last one started during this event, but I am beyond excited to get it going! If you have ever seen the last season of the show LOST, this was inspired by that. Anyway, I cannot wait for this series and I hope you enjoy the first chapter! 
> 
> P.S. The tags and relationships listed will be updated as we meet more people and get further into the story!

Phil Coulson couldn’t remember falling asleep. He must have, however, for he woke up with a start as the seat beneath him gave a violent shake. Gasping, he looked around bewildered and slightly groggy, a strange taste of stale Biscoff cookies in his mouth. _Odd_ , he thought. He never ate those. To his left was a small oval window with the shade pulled up. Out beyond it, stretching to infinity, was a blue and puffy clouded sky. It took him aback, for he couldn’t remember when he had gotten on a plane and how long he had been on it. 

He had been having such an odd dream...

“Would you like something to drink?” a flight attendant asked, coming to lean next to his seat. Her arrival had broken apart his thoughts and whatever he had dreamed about disappeared from his memory like wisps of smoke. 

Phil had to clear his throat before he could respond. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“Alright, sir. Enjoy the rest of your flight.”

Why had he said that? He was absolutely parched. “Actually,” he said, his throat scratchy and hoarse from his nap, “can I get a water with ice, please.”

The flight attendant smiled pleasantly. “Of course.”

Once the attendant had handed him his ice water and moved on, Phil looked about the rest of the plane; the plane he was still unsure how he had come to be on. There was a rather tall man just a few rows ahead of him reading what looked like a magazine on cars. If only he had been sitting next to that guy, he might have been able to distract himself from the odd feelings in his chest with a good conversation. 

Looking away from the man with the magazine, Phil drew his attention to the people sitting across the the aisle from him. The couple was young, no older than twenty-five, and they were talking animatedly about something that sounded sciency. At least there were a lot of words Phil couldn’t understand or repeat without butchering the pronunciation. He listened to their conversation for longer than was probably polite. It wasn’t the conversation, however, that pulled Phil’s attention, but rather their accents and the youth of their voices. Something about those voices sounded so familiar. Had he taught them at some point over his twenty-six year teaching career? He couldn’t have, could he? 

Phil took off his glasses and wiped his hands down his face, taking deep breaths to ease the tightness that had formed in his chest. This was why he never napped. It always put him in a funk, and falling asleep on a plane was even worse. There was nothing to ground him upon waking up, no sense of time or place or direction. Just rows of chairs and pressurized sounds. 

Placing his glasses back on his face, Phil looked out at the plane once more. He was surprised to find a woman glancing his way. She was sitting alone, just as he was, sipping on a cup of tea. She was beautiful with straight black hair and an analytical look in her eyes that read more emotion than the rest of her more stoic expression. For the second time in the last five minutes, Phil was struck by the strangest feeling that he knew this complete stranger. Their eyes only met for a moment before the woman looked away, back out her window to the sky. She gazed out at that expanse of blue like she belonged to it and it took Phil too long of a time to look away from her expression. 

When the plane landed, Phil took his time gathering his things. He didn’t have much with him in the cabin, just his messenger bag filled with the papers he had planned on grading during the flight. Obviously he had decided to take a nap instead. He was known to avoid paperwork, but not usually with a nap. Normally he just found something else to distract himself. It was part of the reason he felt so off. Well, that, and also that he still couldn’t remember when he had fallen asleep. Pushing the thought from his mind as he waited to get off the plane, Phil again focused on the people in front of him. 

The man with the car magazine was helping a woman get her bag down from the overhead compartments. She gave him a thank you and a soft smile that he returned. The young couple across from Phil had moved onto another rapid fire conversation, this time about what they were going to do once they were off the plane. There were others, all moving to get their things or walking forward down the aisle, that interested Phil, but the rest of the disembarking passed in a blur. He didn’t even get to see that woman with the tea and the analytical eyes again. Before he knew it--he was still in somewhat of a haze--he was on his way to baggage claim. 

Stepping into the stuffy airport that smelled of soft pretzels and floor cleaner, Phil started to feel a bit better. There was more space around him now and he felt he was finally shaking off that nap. At least for now. As he went down the escalator, a cool voice broke through the P.A. system and directed passengers to their correct carousel to retrieve their belongings. Following the announcement for flight 616, his flight, Phil headed over to carousel 4 and found his single small suitcase circumnavigating slowly around the track. Having heaved his bag back onto the ground, he was just about to turn towards the exit when that overly official sounding voice talked calmly overhead once more.

_For passengers of Flight 114 to Tahiti, the flight will no longer be boarding at Gate 5. Flight 114 to Tahiti will now be boarding at Gate 7. We apologize for the inconvenience._

There was that feeling again, only this time it wasn’t pressing on his chest. Instead, it trickled down his neck like someone had cracked it over his head like an egg. The feeling of something familiar. 

“It’s a magical place,” he whispered, unsure as to why he was saying such a thing, much less aloud. His eyes stared forward, filmed over by the fuzzy thoughts buzzing in his head. He would have stood there ages trying to piece together what he was feeling had someone not forcefully collided with him. 

Golden lights popped behind his eyes and he saw flashes of what could only be described as projected memories. It was as if a screen had appeared on the lenses of his eyes. A young woman playing on her phone in the backseat of a car, a group gathered around a table of light. Before he could make sense of it, the visions disappeared and Phil was back in the airport having just been accidentally bumped into. 

“Shit! I am so sorry,” said the woman who had bumped him. 

Phil froze when he caught sight of who had run into him. It was the girl, the girl he had seen in that strange vision just then. The girl that had been smiling in the back of a car and had been among the group around the table. He had never seen her before in his life, and yet he felt he knew her from more than just that flash of golden light. 

Reeling from the impact--or had she seen the visions too?--the woman had her fingers on her temple, like she was rubbing away a headache. She blinked several times before shaking her head and speaking again, doubling back to her apology. 

“I am so sorry,” she repeated, “I should have been watching where I was going.”

She picked up a sky blue duffle bag patterned with flowers and slung it over her shoulder before rushing to retrieve a rolling suitcase that had skidded away from her side. Along with dropping her own luggage upon impact, she had sent Phil’s tumbling over as well. As she quickly dove for her things and righted his suitcase, she seemed slightly flustered, but more apologetic than anything. The way she moved, all with a self-deprecating smile on her face, made him think she wasn’t one to get embarrassed easily. 

“It’s all good,” Phil said, waving away the girl’s worry with his hand, “I was the one standing right in the way of everything. So, that one’s on me.” 

The girl gave him a half smile and a chuckle before readjusting the strap of her daisy patterned duffle bag. She apologized one last time and wished him a good day before she disappeared back among the crowd of travelers. As she left, Phil had to shake off the shivers sliding down his spine. 

What in the hell kind of day was he having? 

When Phil finally got into his car--an old beat up hatchback he’d been driving for a decade--he decided that nothing sounded worse than going home to his empty apartment. He still had all those papers to grade. Just thinking about it made him groan and grip his steering wheel a bit tighter.

“Just had to take a nap, Phil,” he muttered to himself, “great job.”

Since he was decidedly not going home, he debated as to where he should go to do his work. He could go to a coffee shop perhaps, maybe a diner. He wouldn’t say no to a slice of pie. However, when he passed by one of the local bars, he decided he could go for a nice drink instead. 

He decided on what appeared to be a nearly empty pub as his work location. There were only about two cars in the parking lot and it looked like a cozy enough place. It wasn’t like it was a ski lodge level of comfy or anything with fireplaces and fuzzy blankets, but the atmosphere was pleasant enough. He could get that drink, hopefully shake off his very strange day, and finish up his grading all in one go. 

Phil had been right; it was a nice establishment. And there was only one other person there--other than the bald bartender who was wiping down the counter--and he appeared to be asleep.

“Hello,” said the man behind the bar as Phil sat down, “how may I be of service to you today?”

“A whiskey soda, please.”

The bartender tilted his head in acknowledgement before turning away to prepare the drink. As he waited to be served, Phil got out his stack of papers to grade and got to work. 

He sighed when the first paper had a blank line at the top. “Name on papers,” he mumbled to himself and he circled the space where the name should have been. Didn’t matter. He could tell by the handwriting which student it was. 

The pub was quiet as Phil worked. The man at the other end of the bar was still dozing, the bartender wiped down glasses without a word, and even the atmospheric music seemed to have been turned down. Everything was nice and calm until the door swung open and let in another customer along with a cool draft of night air. 

“Can I get a Zima,” the new arrival asked as he plopped heavily onto a stool. There was a gap of two bar seats between Phil and the Zima ordering man, but he could still smell him like he had sat right next to him. The man was drenched in the strong smell of salty ocean water and was shivering slightly, his bright bluish green eyes staring at something no one else could see. He had bits of plantlife--seaweed, maybe?--stuck to his leather jacket and the fabric of his clothes squelched when he moved. As he brought the offered Zima up to his lips, water from his hair dripped down his nose. 

Phil took in the man with great curiosity, putting down his red grading pen to fully focus. He thought he recognized the man, but couldn’t be sure. It was a similar sensation to the one he felt seeing that couple on the plane. Like he had known him somewhere.

“Are you alright?” Phil asked. 

The man placed his Zima back on the bar, choking slightly on the sip he had just taken. “Me?”

As if there was anyone else, Phil thought. But instead of saying that aloud, he simply responded with, “Yes. You’re dripping on the bar top.”

“Oh, yeah, crashed my motorcycle into the ocean,” he said. He said that so casually, looking down at himself like he had forgotten which shirt he had chosen for the day and not that he had oceanic plantlife stuck to himself. 

“You seem strangely unfazed by that,” Phil said, “Something you do often?”

The man shook his head, taking another sip of his Zima. “No, but it doesn’t feel as important now. My bike is probably being turned into Nemo’s vacation home, but feels like a whatever sort of situation after everything else.”

Phil’s brows knitted together. “Everything else?” 

The man cut the air with a knife-like laugh. “You’re going to think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

“I’ve had a weird day too,” Phil said, thinking about how it just kept getting weirder, “And I teach history. You’d be surprised to hear how much crazy stuff actually happened.”

That seemed to bring a bit of comfort to the man. Plus, he seemed desperate to tell someone the story of what had just happened to him. No wonder he came to a bar where at least he’d have the bartender to listen to him. With the silent bartender listening in along with Phil, he had quite the audience. 

Taking another swig of Zima to start, the man hunched his shoulders and leaned into the storytelling. 

“I think I died,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

“You died?” 

The man nodded his head and leaned back. “I was driving my bike when I saw something that made me do a double take. Someone I thought I knew. Stupid idea to stop paying attention to the road because the minute I turned away a giant truck came whizzing past me. I nearly ran straight into the damn thing. I swerved, lost control, and ran right over one of those rails that’s supposed to stop people from driving off into the water. Didn’t help me much. Obviously.” He punctuated his statement with a gesture to his soaking wet clothes. “When I hit the water I thought I was done for. My bike sank, I didn't know which way was up, everything went all fuzzy with the water going dark. And then it happened.”

“What happened?” Phil asked, playing into the man’s dramatic pause. 

“I died. Or at least I was close to dying, but then I got this huge adrenaline rush that pushed me to start swimming. I saw a burst of light. Not from above or below, but like it was coming from the back of my head. A vision.”

A shiver ran down Phil’s spine at the description, another familiar feeling cracked over his head. “A vision,” he repeated.

“Mmhmm. Of people. People I knew but had never met. My life, but one I don’t remember living. But I felt it. I knew them. I knew that life was mine. Weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Phil said, his voice distant. “Weird.”

Before either of them could continue the conversation, the bartender cut in asking if the man would like another Zima. 

“Perhaps also a towel so you may dry yourself off,” the bartender added in his strange tone of voice. 

The man at the bar shook his head and waved away the offers. “No, no. I’m good. I should actually be getting home.” He went to pull out his wallet to pay, finding the thing soaked through. “Well that’s awesome,” he grumbled, draining the folded leather out on the floor. 

“I can cover your bill,” Phil said. When he reached for his wallet, the man protested.

“You don’t have to--”

“But I can and I would like to. Weird night and a near death experience calls for a free drink.”

The man grinned. “Thanks,” he said. 

“Don’t mention it.”

With the drink paid for and having borrowed the bar phone to call a cab, the Zima ordering man made to go. It was then that Phil thought to ask him if they had met before, but he was once again interrupted by the bartender asking if he wanted another drink. By the time he had turned back from telling the bartender no, his fellow vision seeing patron had gone. 

“Damn,” Phil muttered to himself. 

The bartender put down the glass he was polishing with a thud, drawing Phil’s attention. When he looked towards the noise, he was surprised to see a new expression on the other man’s face. He still looked strangely robotic, but there was a look of recognition in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“He is not ready yet, Phillip J. Coulson. And neither are you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on Tumblr @springmagpies!


End file.
